6 chapters into the story of myself
I realised the happy ending had been and gone
And it would have been safer to stop reading
Before the tradegy set in,
You can't see it yet, but it sits like smoke
Upon the ink, and sometimes you can hear it
In a page turning, a soft shrieking
That could be mistaken for wind, if you weren't listening
But I was listening, and so steeled myself
For the building sorrow of the book

10 chapters in, all writing stops
Halfway through a word
And the agony hits like a car crash
Played on repeat in my head
And the tradegy rolls like waves in storm
And the shrieking becomes deafening
And the book closes
And in a whispered breath of a broken reader
You can hear the small sigh of relief